


It's A Walterful Life

by pamz



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: AU Fix-It Fic, Alternate Universe, Angst, Christmas, F/M, Family Feels, bad language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-06-07 22:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15229491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamz/pseuds/pamz
Summary: A failed Christmas Eve mission resulting in casualties has Walter wishing he'd never started Scorpion in the first place.





	1. Devastating Results

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this counts as another fix-it fic. But instead of fixing things from where the series left off, I'm going back to the point where the whole story line started sliding off the rails and into the crapper. . .the Christmas episode. 
> 
> I was really excited when I first heard its title was going to be _It's A Walterful Life_. I love _It's A Wonderful Life_ , it's my favorite Christmas movie. So, of course, I was vastly disappointed when they changed the title. And while I enjoyed _A Christmas Car-Roll_ at the time, it wasn't what I'd hoped for. And as we unhappily discovered later, it set in the motion one of the worst season/series finales in television history. 
> 
> So I'm going to attempt to write the Season 4 Christmas episode I wanted to see. I hope everyone else will enjoy it as well. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This story is an amateur, not-for-profit publication produced solely for the enjoyment of other Scorpion fans and is not intended to infringe upon any rights of K/O Paper Products, Blackjack Productions, Perfect Storm Entertainment, SB Films, CBS Television Studios, or anyone else.

_16 dead._

_78 injured._

"Walter." The impatience he heard in Paige's voice made him realize she'd called his name more than once. 

"Sorry, what?" He refused to look up at her, instead shuffling the papers on his desk. Didn't want to see the censure he knew he'd see on her face. Didn't want to see the brace on her wrist or the cut on her forehead.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Go?" He glanced up at her then, noting she was wearing her coat, her purse slung over her shoulder, holding her car keys in her hand.

"With me and Ralph. You know, hot cocoa and stringing popcorn and watching _It's A Wonderful Life_? Opening presents tomorrow morning. Just like we planned?"

"Oh." Shifting his eyes, he saw her expectant expression. 

"It's Christmas Eve," she said, stating the obvious. "It's our first Christmas together."

"This is our fourth Christmas together," he corrected, knowing he sounded like a jerk yet unable to stop the statement from escaping his mouth.

"Not as a couple." She bit her lip, and he could feel himself begin to weaken. 

"Hey, guys," Toby called from across the building. "Hap and I are heading home. Merry Christmas!" The shrink was limping, ten stitches in the knee tended to cause a person to do that. The mechanic waved her hand, then winced as she gingerly grasped the splints on her two broken fingers as Paige returned their salutation.

"Hey, Sly, you ready to hit it?" Cabe announced as he hobbled up to the human calculator's desk on his sprained ankle.

"Cabe, you really should be spending Christmas Eve with Allie," Sylvester said as he stood up, adjusting the sling restraining his left arm so his dislocated shoulder could heal. A large bandage covered the shaved right side of his head, hiding the twenty sutures it took to sew his scalp back together. 

"The docs said you needed someone to keep an eye on you for the next 24 hours," countered the agent. "I've talked to Allie and she agrees with me 100%." 

"Uh." The younger genius must have realized he was fighting a losing battle. "Okay."

"Well, now that's settled. . . Merry Christmas everyone!" Cabe waved his hand before headed toward the door.

"Merry Christmas," said Paige. "You, too, Sly." 

"Yeah, Merry Christmas, Paige." Sylvester turned to look at Walter and opened his mouth. Whatever he'd been about to say, he must have thought better of it and instead murmured "Good night." before following the Homeland agent outside.

_16 dead._

_78 injured._

Including the five members of his team. He supposed he could count himself as one of the wounded, although his external injuries were minor; cuts, scrapes, bruises, burns. He was extremely thankful Ralph hadn't been there. Grateful the boy had been with Patty, serving meals at a homeless shelter. If he'd been. . . A huge lump formed in Walter's throat at the thought of Ralph being injured. . .or worse. . .because of him.

Scorpion had gotten the call from Homeland earlier that afternoon, a case eerily similar in some ways to their first government endeavor. The regional airport at Quartzdale had been hacked, leaving several planes stranded in the air on one of the busiest travel days of the year. Those flights which could be diverted had been, to other already overcrowded airfields. But ten planes hovered above Quartzdale, hoping to land before they ran out of fuel.

The hack had shut down all operations. Power, security, the control tower, even the backup generator. Walter had dispatched Happy, Toby, and Cabe to get it working while he, Sylvester, and Paige had worked on the hack. He'd sent Sly and Paige to the tower while he'd tackled the mainframe. 

It had taken a couple of hours, and there had been the typical hiccups and obstacles to overcome, but finally they'd gotten all the systems back on line. Walter had wanted to run a diagnostic, remembering the disaster not running one had caused at Elia's smart building. But there hadn't been time. One of the planes had been running on fumes, and had been given the go-ahead to start its descent. 

Then Walter's worst fear materialized. An EMP, designed to go off if the system was restored, fried all the electronics, including the runway lights. The sun had already set as it was just days after the winter solstice. The plane missed the landing strip, clipping one of its wings on the control tower before crashing into the terminal.

_16 dead._

_78 injured._

"Walter." Paige's voice once again intruded into his brooding. "I have a very special, uh, present for you to unwrap after Ralph goes to bed." She was smiling at him, a smile he knew all too well, and speaking in a tone designed to seduce. His blood began to stir, rushing away from his head, and he had to stifle a moan.

His prurient thoughts were driven from his head, however, as he once again noted her sprained wrist and the butterfly closures on the cut marring her forehead, which was also surrounded by a dark bruise. He lowered his gaze to his desk. "I want to get a head start on this paperwork," he said unconvincingly. "Good night."

Reaching out her hand, she lifted his chin, forcing him to look into her shimmering eyes. "What happened today. . . Walter. . .you can't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault."

Her unwarranted sympathy was the last straw. "Then whose was it?" he snapped, pulling away from her touch. "I'm team leader. . ."

"We all messed up today. All of us." She tried to put her hand on his shoulder but he shrugged her off.

"Yes, and that was my fault too. I should have had Happy work on restoring the power instead of messing with that generator. I was too slow finding the hack, Sly could have found it faster. . ." A pang of regret rippled through him as he looked at her forehead. "I should have had you stay behind. . ." 

"Walter. . ."

"And if I hadn't wasted time arguing with that idiotic airport manager about his inadequate security protocols, there would have been time to run the diagnostic and I would have discovered the EMP before it went off."

"Walter, you didn't know."

He ignored her attempt to excuse him. "All those people. . . We failed. _I_ failed." He ran his hand over his face. "No, the responsibility falls on my shoulders. Just more blood on my ledger," he murmured. 

"Please, come home with us," she pleaded, tears threatening to spill. "You promised Ralph. . ."

"You and Ralph. . . You'd both better off without me." He raked his hand through his hair. "Everyone would be better off without me. Without Scorpion."

"You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do. What good has it really done? What good have I done? When you compare what's been saved to how much damage I've caused. . . I've actually accomplished nothing. I couldn't even save my own sister," he muttered miserably.

"Walter, please. . ." Paige must have finally realized he wasn't fit company because she sighed wearily. "I need to go pick up Ralph." Placing her hand on his upper arm, she gave him a reassuring caress. "You can come over later if you change your mind. If not, I guess I'll see you in the morning. You did promise Ralph you'd be there to open presents," she reminded him.

A promise was a promise. And one to Ralph was one he couldn't wiggle out of, no matter how much he wanted to. "Okay." 

She leaned forward and kissed him, causing them both to wince and say "Ow". Walter had forgotten they each had a split bottom lip, hers on the left side of her mouth and his on the right. 

"Merry Christmas, Walter," she said as she pulled back, her face full of disappointment.

Closing his eyes, he mumbled, "Good night." Sitting back down in his chair, he listened as her footsteps carried her across the concrete floor and out the creaky door. 

_16 dead._

_78 injured._

Sixteen people who would never again spend Christmas with their loved ones. And no matter what anyone said, it had been his fault. He didn't deserve to spend his with Paige or. . ..

Ralph. . . The boy who once confidently proclaimed Scorpion never failed. But he'd been wrong. Scorpion could fail, and had failed, with devastating results. Walter doubted he'd be able to ever look the youngster in the face again. 

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Walter then took a deep breath before picking up his pen and began filling out the form on the top of the pile of papers on his desk.

_____

His cell pinged at midnight, a text from Paige wishing him a ‘Happy Christmas' along with several heart emojis followed by one of bright red lips signifying a kiss. He didn't reply, instead going to the kitchen to get more coffee.

The day's events had been weighing heavily on his mind as he'd worked on his report. Every word only reinforced his belief the world would be better off without Scorpion. After pouring himself another mug, he trudged back to his workstation, taking a sip before diving back into his work.

An hour later, it was obvious the caffeine was no longer effective in keeping him awake. He was yawning with increasing frequency. His eyes began to droop and there were moments he suspected he'd fallen asleep for a second or two. 

The creaking of the garage door jolted him awake from the latest of his involuntary naps. Running his hand over his face, he got to his feet. "Paige?" He didn't know who else it would be. She must have waited until Ralph had gone to sleep to come over and surprise him with her ‘special' gift. He swallowed nervously. He was tired and not really in the mood, but he didn't think he could turn her down again.

A female voice did reply to his inquiry, but it certainly wasn't Paige's. It was one he thought. . .no, one he _knew_ he would never hear again.

"Nope, not Paige. Sorry, baby bro." 

Walter could only stare as his sister Megan approached him, a mischievous dimpled smile on her face


	2. Since Baghdad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borrowed a line or two from "A Cyclone" (1x03).

" _Megan?_ " Her name involuntarily slipped past his lips as she came to a halt in front of his desk.

"Yep," she said, still smiling at him. "You always were the genius of the family." 

"Wha. . . What are you doing here?"

It had to be impossible. She was dead. Been gone for over two years. Her ashes had been launched into space on his illegally obtained Russian rocket.

Yet she was standing before him, and he noted she was not using her crutches. A soft white glow seemed to be emanating around her like an aura. Not that such nonsense had any credibility in his opinion.

"Would you believe me if I told you I'm an angel?" she asked with a laugh. "Sent down here to show my smarty-pants little brother how totally wrong and pig-headed he is?"

"Of course not," he scoffed. "This has to be a dream. I mentioned you earlier to Paige. That's why you're here. You're a manifestation of my subconscious or some sort of rubbish."

Megan sat on the corner of his workstation. "Think whatever you like," she said with a shrug. "But I'm here and you're going to listen to me."

Walter leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm all ears."

"Yeah, I can tell." She flashed him another dimpled grin before her expression grew serious. "First off, why the hell are you here? Why aren't you cuddled up with Paige and Ralph, drinking hot cocoa and watching my all-time favorite Christmas movie?"

He rolled his eyes. "You made us watch that stupid. . .okay, not so stupid movie," he amended as she stuck her tongue out at him, "every year."

"It's an awesome movie," she said. "And that's not the point."

"Since you're a figment of my imagination. . ." Megan snorted. He ignored her before continuing, "you know what happened today. Sixteen people are dead. Seventy-eight are injured. All because Scorpion failed. I failed."

"So you want to just chuck six years of hard work in the bin because of one failure?" she countered. 

"It's one failure too many!" Walter sprang to his feet, dragging his hands through his hair. "I'm supposed to save people, not let them die."

"No one is infallible, little bro. Not even you." She swung her legs around to the other side of his desk. "And if I'm just a figment, how could I do this?" Reaching out, she pinched his forearm. 

"Ow!" Looking down, he saw a reddish mark where her fingers had been. But it proved nothing. "I had half a building fall on me today," he stated. "That could have already been there and I hadn't noticed."

It was Megan's turn to roll her eyes. "I don't have all night to convince you," she complained. "Go get your car keys."

"Why? Where are we going?"

"For me to know and you to find out." Completing the childish taunt by sticking out her tongue at him again, she slid off his desk and sauntered toward the door.

Walter stared after her for a moment or two, amazed by the fact she was walking unaided. With a shake of his head, he grabbed his keys and followed her.

_____

"Turn right at the next light."

Walter glanced over at his sister sitting in the passenger seat of his Malibu as she pointed toward the windshield. This _had_ to be a dream. He could think of no other explanation for her presence. His dreams. . .and nightmares. . .had always been extremely vivid. One of the dubious perks of being a genius, he'd always assumed. He just couldn't recall having one so vivid all his senses were engaged.

He could feel the steering wheel in his hands, the heated air blowing from the vents. Detect the light vanilla fragrance she'd always worn. Hear her breathing. Whatever this was, it was different than any other dream he'd ever experienced. 

Megan made a little noise and he saw they were approaching the intersection she'd indicated. Lifting his foot off the accelerator, the car slowed as he turned the corner.

"Shit, Walter, you just ran a red light," she said, whipping her head from side to side. "Someone could have plowed into us."

"No one was coming. I checked." He didn't know why she was so upset. "And you're. . .well. . ." A lump formed in this throat, and he had to swallow around it.

"Dead." Megan said the word he couldn't say. "Yeah, I know. But, dammit, you're not."

"Are angels allowed to swear?" he asked teasingly, trying to lighten the mood.

"We can say whatever the hell we want," she replied before pointing again at the entrance to an alleyway. "Hang a left here then pull in behind that silver LeMans."

He did as she instructed, parking behind the vaguely familiar car. Glancing around, he noted they were in an industrial part of the city. Old warehouses and small abandoned looking factories lined both sides of the narrow street.

"Come on," his sister said with a hint of impatience. "Over here." She headed toward one of the few buildings that didn't appear to be on the verge of collapse. 

Hustling after her, he stopped when she reached a door bearing the sign "Authorized Personnel Only" and a ten digit key pad. "What are you doing?" he asked as she began pressing the numbered buttons, certain she was about to set off an alarm. But somehow she must have punched in the right combination because the door unlocked with a loud click.

Opening the door, she looked over her shoulder. "Come on."

Shaking his head once again, he followed her inside. The interior was dark except where security lights shone through narrow windows near the top of the walls. In the distance, Walter could hear the muted sound of gunfire. A horse's neigh seconds later allayed his concern they were about to be shot. If he had to guess, someone was watching an old western on TV somewhere in the building.

Megan wound her way through sewing machines and iron presses to an partitioned off corner next to a staircase leading to a catwalk. Two large windows took up most of the cubicle's wall space. Through the closest one, Walter could see the flickering of a television screen as war whoops and the sound of more shooting emanated from it. Definitely a western.

A silhouetted form of a man appeared in the doorway, a gun in his hand. "What the hell are you two doing in here?" he growled in a voice Walter instantly recognized.

"Cabe?"

"How'd ya know my name?" The Homeland agent stepped out into the one of the beams of light. Walter's mouth dropped open as he got a good look at the older man. The Cabe he knew was pretty fit for an man pushing sixty but this was not the Cabe Gallo he knew. This Cabe seemed a decade older. Grizzled stubble adorned his usually neatly shaven cheeks. He was completely bald on top, with just a fringe of greasy gray hair ringing his head. A beer belly hung over the belt of his stained trousers. His feet were encased in a scuffed up pair of cowboy boots.

"Cabe, what happened?" he asked incredulously, moving closer. "I thought you were staying with. . ."

The agent squinted at him with a puzzled expression. "Hey, I know you," he announced, recognition dawning in his eyes. "Well, I'll be damned. Walter O'Brien. I thought I'd never see you again."

"You just saw me five hours ago," Walter stated. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Cabe looked confused again. "I haven't seen you since you were sixteen. Since. . ." His voice trailed off as a mixture of guilt and sadness came over his face.

"Since Baghdad?"

"Yeah, Baghdad." The older man lowered his weapon. "I didn't know they were going to do that with your software, son. Not until it was too late. You don't' know how sorry I am."

"I forgave you about Baghdad years ago," Walter said. "Don't you remember? After I drove off that cliff and you rescued me?

"I rescued you?" Cabe shook his head. "Impossible. I haven't rescued anyone." He peered past Walter's shoulder. "Is that. . . Is that little Megan?" 

"Yep, it's me, Agent Gallo." She stepped forward as she smiled at him.

"I don't know about the ‘agent' part," he said. "I flamed out in New York. I was a hair away from forced retirement when I came up with the idea of finding your brother and starting a group of problem solvers. Geniuses who could find solutions others couldn't. Spent a year trying to track him down but came up empty. It was like he'd disappeared down a rabbit hole."

Walter's stomach clenched. _Rabbit hole_. Surely it didn't mean what he was afraid it meant.

"And since I couldn't find him, they booted me out the door." Waving his arms as he glanced around the building, he added, "This is just the latest in a long line of rent-a-cop gigs. Night watchman at a sweat shop that hires illegals."

The Cabe he knew wouldn't have sunk so low. The Cabe he knew had principles, codes he lived by. "But. . . You did find me. You do work for Homeland. You're Scorpion's government handler. . ." 

"Scorpion? Wasn't that your hacker handle back when you were a kid?"

Walter nodded. "And I named my company after it."

"Company? What company?" The agent reached into his jacket and pulled out a flask. After taking a healthy swig, he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. "If you owned a company called Scorpion, I would have found you."

Staring incredulously at his mentor then spinning around to glare at his sister, Walter snapped, "Is this some kind of a joke? Some kind of elaborate ruse to get me to see how important Scorpion is? How important _I_ am?"

"What in the hell is he talking about?" asked a bewildered Cabe. 

"It's no joke, baby bro," said Megan. "You never started Scorpion." She pointed at the agent/security guard. "You never forgave him for Baghdad. You never mended the rift between you."

"Yes I did. Four years ago. When he came to me with that airport software. . ." His voice trailed off as his sister shook her head.

"Didn't happen. You think today was bad? All fifty-six of those planes crash landed. Well, except for the ones that were shot down." She was no longer smiling. "The casualty rate was over 70%."

Bile rose in his throat. No, he'd saved those planes. _Scorpion_ had saved those planes. No one had died. Unlike today (which was technically yesterday but he wasn't going to quibble the point). 

"No," he said stubbornly. "I don't believe it. I was there. I remember. And I remember everything." He raked his hand through his hair. "This is just a dream."

Megan sighed as she turned to face Cabe. "Sorry to disturb you, Agent Gallo. It was nice seeing you again."

"You, too, sweetheart," the older man replied. Casting one last weary look Walter's way, he shrugged before going back inside his cubicle.

"Come on." Walter jumped as she poked him in the back as she walked past him. "We need to get going."

"Where?" When she didn't answer, he added, "Not that it matters. There's nowhere you can take me that's going to change my mind. You're wasting your time."

She pivoted back around, a ferocious look on her face , and he took a step back. "I have nothing but time," she said. "You're the one squandering your life wallowing in self-pity."

With that, she marched out of the building. Walter, still not over the fact she could even walk, let alone march, resigned himself into following her outside.


	3. Not Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, I didn't forget this story. And yes, I plan on finishing it. Probably about 5 or 6 more chapters.

Megan stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her foot tapping the gravelly pavement as Walter unlocked his Malibu. He had the key in the ignition before she could open her door. She was still strapping herself in when he put the vehicle into gear, driving off with a screech of the tires.

"Where do you think you're going?" his sister asked, clicking her buckle into place as they sped down the alley. 

"Back to the garage," he snapped. Seeing Cabe reduced to such dire consequences. . . His stomach churned as his blood boiled. Baghdad had not been the older man's fault and it had taken Walter far too long to realize that. 

But he could have forgiven Cabe at any time. It would have taken only a couple of keystrokes to locate him. Just like it had taken only a few keystrokes to reset the automatic timers around Amanda's grave. Starting or not starting Scorpion wouldn't have been a factor.

"Well, you're half right," Megan chuckled, breaching his defiant musings.

"What does that mean?"

"You'll see," she replied with a cryptic smile. "Turn left at the next intersection."

Walter ran his hand over his face as he sighed wearily. He didn't want to fight with Megan, even if she was just a figment of his imagination or a hallucination or. . . Whatever she was, she was still his sister, and he still missed her. 

And if she wanted to take him on a wild goose chase, he'd endure it just to be with her again. Following her instructions, Walter brought his car to a halt in front of a dilapidated Quonset hut. 

"This is it," Megan chirped.

"This is what?" he asked, suspiciously eyeing the rusted steel building.

"Our next stop." She undid her seat belt and got out. Halfway to the door, she spun around and beckoned with her hand. "Come on, little bro."

Exhaling, he did as he was bid, muttering under his breath he thought she had all the time in the world. He caught up to her as she reached the front door. The place was dimly lit, a sure sign whatever business was conducted inside was closed for the night.

"How are we. . .?" he began, his question becoming moot as Megan turned the handle and walked inside. 

The tinkling of a bell above the door announced their arrival into a small room with a counter, although it was nearly drowned out by the blaring chords of Black Sabbath's "Iron Man" and the whooshing of a blow torch. Spare automobile parts were piled everywhere, along with a collection of hubcaps decorating the walls. Handwritten signs were plastered in between the hubcaps, offering everything from oil changes to tire rotation.

"Come back tomorrow," a surly voice called out as the music was turned down a notch. A voice he instantly recognized. "We're closed."

Walter glanced over at his sister, who shrugged, her face a blank slate. He opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on but he was interrupted as the batwing doors leading to the back of the hut were swung open. 

"Hey, numbnuts, I said we're closed." Happy appeared in the archway, wiping her hands on a greasy rag. She glanced up, the cigarette dangling from her lips fell to the floor as her mouth dropped open. 

"Walter O'Brien. You son of a bitch." The mechanic tossed the rag onto the counter. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" he asked, wondering why she was so mad at him. "You went home with Toby hours ago."

"Toby? That stupid jerk you kept from getting killed by a pit boss?" Happy sneered. "I haven't seen him since. . .since I left your sorry ass. I figured he's probably dead by now."

"He's not dead," Walter insisted. "He's your. . ." He nearly told her the shrink was her husband, had been for nearly eight months. But her irritated expression held him back.

"My what?" She moved closer, giving him a good look at her face. She looked like she'd aged a decade since he'd seen her earlier that evening. There were lines deeply etched into her skin. A faded yellow bruise encircled her left eye. She was a harder, meaner version of the friend he'd known for close to eight years. 

Walter glanced over at Megan, who suddenly found a box of spark plugs fascinating. Running his hand over his face, he changed the subject. "So is this your dad's place?" He'd never been to Patrick Quinn's repair shop before, even though he'd met the man three Christmases ago. 

She reached into her jacket, pulling out a pack of smokes. "My father. . .? That bum? Hell, no. I haven't seen him since he dumped me off at St Luke's like a sack of garbage." Flicking her lighter, she lit her cigarette. "For all I know he's dead. . .or in jail." She shrugged. "Wherever he is, I hope he's rotting there."

"But. . ." Happy's father _was_ in jail, as part of a plea deal to bring down a ring of car thieves. Once again, Walter turned to Megan, who just shrugged. 

"But what?" The mechanic blew a cloud of smoke in his direction. "Listen, O'Brien, I ain't got all night to listen to your bullshit. I washed my hands of you seven years ago."

"Seven years ago?" That couldn't be right. He'd met her eight years ago at a fabrication convention. She was the first real friend he'd ever had. Hell, when he'd been threatened with deportation, she even . . . "Seven years ago we got married."

A loud burst of laughter was followed by a hacking cough. "Married?" she sneered once she could speak again. "I wouldn't marry you if you were one of the last men on earth."

"But you did, to keep me from getting deported."

"What the fuck are you talking about? You were never in any danger of being deported." Happy pointed a finger at him. "If you were, I never knew about. I left because I couldn't stand to stick around and watch you destroy yourself."

Walter grew even more confused. "Destroy myself? What are you talking about?"

She ignored his questions. "You were so messed up, it wouldn't have surprised me to hear you'd died."

She said it so matter-of-factly, as if his death wouldn't have bothered her. Glancing at her, he saw her eyes belied her detachment, the moisture gathering in their corners giving her away. 

"How was I messed up? I don't drink, I don't do drugs. . ."

A derisive snort interrupted him. "Didn't say you did. You weren't eating, you weren't sleeping. . ." Happy waved her hand dismissively. "I couldn't deal with it anymore. So I split."

A sick feeling hit the pit of his stomach again. Surely she couldn't mean. . . Giving himself a mental shake, he gestured toward the hub capped decorated walls. "So is this place yours then?

"Hell, no. I just work here. After hours. I'm the ‘girl' who gets all the shit jobs the boys can't do but who then take all the credit." She practically spat her words at him.

Walter silently commiserated with her over the societal sexism she'd encountered. She'd had trouble finding jobs when he'd met her. It had been one of the reasons he'd started his company, so she could make a living using her genius. "But. . . But you work for me. At Scorpion."

"Work for you? In your dreams, O'Brien." She crushed out her cigarette into a overfull ashtray. "Listen, I got three more cars to do before the buyer . . ." Her voice trailed off as her eyes shifted away from his. 

The puzzle pieces fell into place for him then; the dilapidated building, the piles of auto parts, why she was by herself on Christmas Eve. She was running a chop shop. He shook his head. She was more like her father than she knew. 

She must have realized he'd figured out what was going on. "Get out, O'Brien, or I'm calling the cops," she snarled, reaching under the counter and bring out a crowbar. 

"Happy," he began, seeing through her bluff. "You don't have to do this. I can help you. You're going to end up like your father. . ."

She twirled the metal tool like a baton. "What the hell do you know about my father?" she snarled. "I don't need you. I don't need anybody. Take your little friend and get the fuck out, asshole."

"Happy." Any other time, he would be shaking in his shoes in the face of her temper. But he could see the pain and tears once again in her eyes, and he knew he couldn't give up on her. She'd been his first real friend. "Please. . ."

"Get. Out." She swung the crowbar in his direction and he ducked just in time to keep from getting hit up the side of his head.

Megan grabbed his arm. "Come on, little bro," she said, her gaze never leaving Happy. "I think you've seen all you need to see here."

She pulled him toward the door, its little bell tinkling mockingly as they left the shop.


	4. All Bets Are Off

Walter waited until both he and Megan were inside his car before he spoke. "I don't believe Happy would have turned to a life of crime," he said in a calm voice which belied his fury. "Granted, she'd done some questionable things before I met her but. . . I can't believe she would have become a criminal if I hadn't started Scorpion."

"Believe whatever you want, baby bro," his sister said with a shrug. "I'm just the messenger."

"What message am I supposed to receive from this. . .whatever this is?" He ran his hand over his face. "If it's to show me why. . ."

"I can't help you figure it out, Walter," Megan said, patting his shoulder. "I'm just the mess. . ."

"Yeah, you're just the messenger." He smacked his hand on the steering wheel, wincing as pain reverberated up his arm. "People died because Scorpion failed. I failed. The damage I've caused, that it's caused, far outweighs any good."

She sighed wearily. "You still think that?"

"Yes." 

"Even after. . ." She stopped herself, shaking her head. "Let's go."

Walter started the engine, exhaling in frustration. "Where to?" he asked, although he had a good idea who they would be visiting next. 

"Go around back," his sister instructed half an hour later as they pulled into the parking lot of an abandoned big box electronics store.

"Maybe they'd still be in business if Scorpion didn't exist?" he quipped as he drove around the side of the building. 

"Ha ha. Nope, they still would've filed for bankruptcy." She pointed to a door next to the loading dock. "Here's good."

He was no longer surprised she easily opened the door and strolled inside. A miasma of smoke hung heavy in the air, making his eyes water. Waving it away, he let his vision adjust to the dimly lit room, noticing it was empty except for a few cardboard boxes and wooden pallets.

"This way." Megan led him toward the glowing outline of a door in the distance. As they grew closer, Walter heard noises he was unfortunately all too familiar with, the sliding peephole in the door confirming his suspicions. 

"They'll never let us. . ." he began as his sister grabbed the handle and pushed it open, revealing what used to be a stock room. 

But instead of televisions and computers, several slot machines lined one wall. An idle roulette wheel sat on a card table. A bartender drinking a bottle of beer stood behind a makeshift bar of old crates and other packing materials. In the middle of the room sat a green-felted circular table surrounded by five men and a woman playing poker.

Guarding the door was a bouncer with his beefy arms crossed over his broad chest. Megan passed right by him without the man blinking an eye. Walter hesitated for a second then followed his sister inside. 

He searched for the only person he knew who would be at an obviously illegal casino. Scanning the faces of the men, Walter did a double take as he barely recognized Toby. A cigar was clenched between the shrink's teeth, one hand nervously rubbed together two of his seven remaining chips while the other held his cards. His complexion was pale and waxy, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. Eyes which grew like saucers when they met Walter's. 

"What the f. . .?" The behaviorist took the stogie out of his mouth, staring in disbelief as Walter circled around to stand behind him. 

The man sitting on Toby's left elbowed him. "You gonna call or what?"

"I fold." Tossing his cards onto the table, he pushed his chair back and stood up. "Gotta take a piss," he announced, spinning on his heel and heading toward a door signed ‘Employees Only.' Walter glanced over his shoulder at Megan, who just shrugged as they both followed the shrink.

Toby waited until they'd closed the door before speaking. "Wacky O'Brain. What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were. . ." He shook his head. "Thanks by the way. I could have won that hand," he said.

Walter snorted. "The odds you would have filled that straight were infinitesimal." 

"Says you." The shrink scratched his armpit and Walter noticed several of his fingers appeared to have been broken and badly reset. "I need to get back out there." He twitched nervously. 

"How much do you owe?" It had been years since he'd seen Toby like this, obsessed and desperate. "And who do you owe it to?"

"100 large," said the behaviorist. "To Rhonda."

Rhonda Duffy? _Oh shit_. Walter winced, remembering how she'd once had her goons beat Toby to a bloody pulp because he'd missed a payment. "She's going to kill you."

"I know." The shrink shook his head. 

"I thought you paid her off years ago."

"I did," declared Toby. "But then, you know, there was this sure thing and that sure thing and. . ."

"And you got back in over your head again," Walter replied with a nod.

The shrink looked at him suspiciously. "Why do you even care, O'Brien? I checked out. . ." He paused for a second as he ran the numbers. "Over seven years ago. I couldn't stay and watch. . ." Tossing up his hands, he continued, "You wouldn't listen to reason so I decided to stop banging my head against your stubborn brick wall of a brain."

Taking a deep breath, Walter waited until the persistent dread he didn't want to acknowledge subsided before changing the subject. "I just saw Happy," he announced.

"Happy?" The behaviorist frowned for a moment. "Man, I haven't thought of her in ages." Walter cursed his stunted EQ, unable to tell if the shrink was concealing his obsession for the mechanic or was truly indifferent "So how is ol' Hap anyway? Still angry at the world?"

"She works at a chop shop." His statement hung in the air as several emotions he couldn't name flitted over Toby's face.

"A. . ." the shrink began before hitching his shoulders. "Well, good for her."

Disbelief filled Walter. Where was the man who'd spent years insinuating himself into the mechanic's walled up heart? "She's a criminal, Toby."

"Yeah, so what?" The other man crossed his skinny arms over his chest. "Yeah, I thought she was cute, but I was still with Amy and when she left me, Miss Miserable had already split for parts unknown. And I took off not much after." 

Toby narrowed his eyes at Walter. "But you already know all that. So other than chiding me about my gambling and dredging up some woman I barely knew, what the hell are you doing here?"

Walter glanced over at his sister. "Learning some kind of lesson." 

The shrink chuckled. "Who's this?" he asked, waving his hand at Megan. "Your teacher?" He leaned forward. "You're going to have a hard time teaching this stubborn ass anything," he said as he pointed at Walter.

She flashed the behaviorist a dimpled grin. "Don't I know it. You wouldn't think someone with a 197 IQ could be so slow on the uptake," she replied with a laugh. And even though she was mocking him, Walter loved to hear her laugh. It was infectious. No one could stay sad around her for long. It was one of the things he missed about her the most. 

Toby's guffaw interrupted his reminiscing. "She sure has you pegged," he said. "I like her. You're not like his girl. . ."

"She's my sister," Walter said, the warning in his voice subtle but the other man picked up on it.

"Oh, yeah, I knew you existed but we never met." The shrink extended his hand. "Dr Tobias M Curtis, Toby to my friends."

She shook the proffered hand. "Megan O'Brien."

The psychiatrist opened his mouth, no doubt to insult Walter in some way, when a fist pounding on the door cut him off. "Curtis, you turd," a strident female voice shouted. "Get your scrawny ass out here. And you better have the money you owe me."

"Oh, shit, Rhonda." Toby hopped from foot to foot. 

"Here, take this." Walter opened up his wallet and pulled out several twenty dollar bills. 

The shrink pushed them away. "You think a hundred dollars is going to satisfy that crazy bitch? I'm a dead man."

After glancing around the alcove in which they'd been standing, Walter pushed open the rest room door. "We can escape through here."

"Nope, the window's too small," Toby announced, adding, "I checked it out when I first got here."

"We can't interfere."

Walter twirled around on his heel to face Megan. "What do you mean, we can't interfere?"

"It's means I'm screwed, you asshole," declared the behaviorist. "Shit." 

Brushing Walter aside, he ran into the bathroom just as the other door popped open. Two large men rushed past them, followed by a mean looking blonde woman. "Where's my money, Curtis?" she demanded.

"Time to go," said Megan, grabbing Walter's arm as he tried to enter the bathroom. 

"But Toby's in trouble. . ." His words trailed off as she sadly shook her head as several thuds with corresponding yelps came from inside the room. 

"There's nothing you can do, little bro."

He stared at her in disbelief. He had to help his friend. Rhonda and her goons were going to torture him at minimum, and at worst. . . He didn't want to think about what that would entail.

But his sister was determinedly pulling him through the doorway, back out into the smoky casino. An anguished cry stopped both of them in their tracks.

"Megan, wait, we just can't leave," Walter pleaded. Despite the competitiveness of their friendship, he still couldn't just allow Toby to be murdered over gambling debts. 

"I'm sorry, Walter, I really am," she said. "But it's time to go." 

He caught a glimpse of her grim face before she turned and headed for the exit. Against his better judgement, he went after her, finding it odd their presence didn't to attract the attention of anyone in the room. Too busy gambling, he surmised with a mental shrug before hurrying to catch up with his sister.


	5. Not A Good Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to finish this fic by Christmas, so my other WIPs will be shoved to the back burner for the time being. Wish me luck.

"Come on," said Megan as she opened the car door. "We've got a bit of a drive ahead of us."

"Okay." Walter walked around to his side of the vehicle, a spur of the moment plan formulating in his mind. Waiting until she'd settled into the passenger seat and buckled herself in, he then made his move, sprinting around the car and toward the building. He didn't care if he wasn't supposed to intervene. He was going to save Toby. 

He'd almost reached the entrance when something hooked his left ankle. The pebbled concrete rushed up to meet him, knocking the wind out of him.

"Oh, God, Walter." Megan crouched down beside him as he gasped for air. "I just meant to stop you, not hurt you. Are you all right?"

His chin, palms, and knees had taken the brunt of the fall but nothing felt broken. Just scraped and bruised. "I'm fine," he said, pushing himself off the ground before resting on his heels. "Why can't I intervene? They're going to kill. . ."

She shook her head. "They won't kill him. They need him alive so he can pay back what he owes. They're just gonna break a couple more fingers and a few ribs."

Rising to his feet, Walter brushed off his clothes. "I should be helping him. The Toby I know stopped gambling because of. . ." His voice trailed off as he remembered exactly why the shrink had quit. _Oh, shit_.

"Because of what?" Megan folded her arms across her chest.

"Because of Happy. She made him promise to stop and he has and. . ."

"But they aren't together," his sister pointed out. 

"But they should be." Walter ran a hand over his face, wincing when he made contact with something warm and sticky on the underside of his chin. 

"I thought you frowned on their relationship. That fraternization between colleagues was bad for the workplace," she said as she handed him a couple of tissues.

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind," he replied, dabbing at the blood. 

"You've changed your mind about a lot of things since I left you." An expression came over Megan's face he couldn't read. "But deep down, you're still the stubborn ass you've always been." She grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the car. "Come on, we need to go."

An hour later, Megan pointed to a modest ranch style house on a quiet suburban street. "Park in front, not the driveway" she said. 

Walter got out of the car and stared at the house, which badly needed painting. Both the exterior and interior were dark. Not a single Christmas decoration in sight. The lawn needed mowing and the shrubs needed pruning. There were shingles missing off the roof and a shutter hung sideways off one of the windows.

With more than a little trepidation, he walked about half way up the path leading to the front door before he realized his sister wasn't following him. Spinning around, he saw her standing by the Malibu with a sadness in her eyes he wished he could erase. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, knowing she couldn't be. He'd never been to Rancho Cucamonga before but he knew who had once lived there. And as much as he dreaded what was waiting for them inside, it couldn't possibly compare to what his sister was feeling.

"I'm fine," she replied, pushing off the vehicle and moving toward him,

"Yeah, like all the times I've said ‘I'm fine' when I'm not," he scoffed. 

"I just needed a minute." She sighed wearily. "Come on then. Let's get this over with."

"We can't just go in," he said as they approached the house. "They're probably sleeping. Maybe we should come back in the morning. . ."

"By then it will be too late," she stated as she reached for the door knob. "It'll be okay."

Wondering if she was reassuring him or herself, Walter watched as she easily opened the door and stepped inside. The interior of the house was a shabby as the outside. Piles of newspapers and magazines lined the walls of the foyer. A mismatched menagerie of shoes littered the floor.

A glimpse into the living room revealed nothing indicating it was Christmas. No tree, no stockings hanging from the mantle of the brick fireplace, no gifts. There were, however, shelves crammed with various knickknacks covered in a layer of dust and more periodicals stacked in every nook and cranny of the room. It was no wonder Sly had such a cleanliness fetish after growing up in such a ramshackle household.

"Now what?" he whispered to his sister who appeared to be as appalled as he was. 

"Who's there?" Walter jumped as a woman rose up off the couch, slipping on a pair of dark rimmed glasses as she stood up.

"Hello," Megan said in a strained tone as the older woman drew closer. And he could see why. He'd never met Sly's mother in the all years he'd known the younger genius, but there was no doubt who she was. The woman's likeness to Sylvester was uncanny. The same dark hair, the heavyset features, her eyes, even the glasses. 

"I know you, don't I?" said Mrs Dodd, pointing at Walter. "O something. O'Brien." She clutched tightly at her robe. "You're the one who kept my boy out of jail, aren't you? That time he ran away from home and stole that money."

"Yes," Walter said, thinking back to the day he'd met a sixteen year Sly, scared and suicidal in a squalid motel room. His stomach churned at the remembrance and he broke out into a cold sweat. He had to ask a question he didn't want to ask because he was already positive of the answer. "Where is Sylvester?"

"He's dead." His sister's gasp almost drowned out the older woman's reply.

Her declaration still came as a shock, his eyes growing damp as his throat threatened to close up. "How. . .?" he managed to choke out.

"He hacked another bank and got caught." Her features contorted with pain. "If you hadn't let that. . .that friend of yours bully my son, he'd still be alive instead of dying in prison. You should have been there for him."

_Friend? Bully?_ Oh, shit, she couldn't mean. . . "I was there for Sly," he countered, thrusting aside his troublesome thoughts. "You should have been there for him before I ever met him. You and that obsessed bastard of a husband were the ones who failed to understand your son's genius, not me. I, uh, I. . ." 

He'd been about to say he'd started a company to help fellow geniuses like Sylvester. A safe haven where their intelligence was appreciated, not scorned. Some safe haven, he snorted, recalling the injuries they'd all suffered that day, especially Sly. If the piece of glass which had sliced open the right side of his head had been just a millimeter to the left, he could have been seriously brain damaged. . .or dead. 

"You think we. . .I. . ." Sly's mom broke down then, tears streaming down her plump face. "We tried, I tried. . . I didn't know what to do. He was just so. . .so different than how I'd always pictured my child. And Ken. . . Well, he's not the easiest person to live with in the first place. And when his son was so high-strung and more interested in math and comic books instead of sports. . ." She took a shaky breath. "I think he was as disappointed with me as he was with Sylvester because I'd produced such an odd child."

"It's all right, Mrs Dodd," said Megan, handing her mother-in-law a tissue and patting her shoulder.

"I don't mean to sound rude, but who are you?" the woman asked as she wiped at her eyes.

His sister shot him a glance, the sorrow on her face so plain even he could see it. "My name is Megan." she said, her voice sounding as if she were on the verge of tears. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, dear. It's been six years," her mother-in-law stated. "But I still miss him every day."

"Me, too," Megan whispered as she turned away. Louder she said, "Sorry to disturb you," before grabbing Walter's arm. "Let's go."

Walter was more than ready to leave. The whole visit had been unnerving. Pulling himself out of his sister's grasp, he hurried to the door. Where he made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder into soft brown eyes which looked so much like Sylvester's that for a second he could have sworn. . .

Giving his head a shake, he whirled around and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. Megan was already standing by his car, her face glistening in the street lights. 

"Megan," he said as he stopped in front of her. "I. . .I. . ." He faltered, his brain filled with a million questions, none of which seemed appropriate to ask, like why she hadn't introduced herself as Sylvester's wife. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" She let out a little laugh as she swiped at her cheeks. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you." Her death had been one of the two biggest regrets of his life, the other not telling Paige he loved her years before he finally did. 

"You were never suppose to save me, Walter," she said. "I was a lost cause from the start." She sniffed back her tears. "You're here to save the others. Speaking of which, we need to go."

She reached out to open the car door, but he put his hand on the window, impeding her. "Even if what you're saying is true. . .and I'm still not convinced it is," he began. "You were never a lost cause to me. Never. I still miss you every day. And I know I never said it enough when. . .when I had the chance, but I love you."

"Walter. . ." She wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a quick hug which he returned. "I love you too, baby bro. Now get your ass in the car and let's go."

"Okay, okay." He walked around to the driver's side and started the engine as she slipped into the passenger seat. Walter pulled away from the curb, watching as the darkened house disappeared in his rear view mirror.


	6. Challenged

"I'm going to need you to suspend your disbelief for this next visit," Megan said as they drove through the streets of Los Angeles. 

Walter made a rude noise. "I suspended my disbelief hours ago."

"Yeah, well, this person is usually asleep this time of night," she explained. "And I need you to see them during a typical day. So we're going to go back to a couple days ago."

"It's Ralph, isn't it?" he asked, making the logical deduction. There were only two people left, Ralph and Paige, and of the two, it was reasonable to assume the boy genius would be the one sleeping now.

"I can't say." She turned to look out her window. 

"Wait," he said, running her words through his head. "Go back? As in time?"

"Yes."

"That's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible."

"Oh, yeah, I keep forgetting you're an angel," he scoffed.

"And I keep forgetting you're a stubborn jackass," she retorted, sticking out her tongue.

"Remember when Mom would say your face would freeze like that?" He chuckled at the memory. "And I explained the only way a person's face could freeze was if they'd had a stroke or one of several neurological disorders?"

"Oh, God, yes. The expression on her face as a five year old discussed Bell's Palsy. . . I kept wondering if it would freeze like that." Her dimpled grin slipped into a frown. "I also remember Dad whipping your arse out in the sheep shed for smarting off."

He sobered as well. "Yeah, fun times at the O'Brien farm." 

She placed her hand on his shoulder. "They meant well, Walter but. . ."

"But what?"

"You scared them. You knew things they couldn't even comprehend. And they weren't stupid."

"I never said they were," he countered defensively.

"I know you didn't. But you thought it. I saw it in your eyes every time you and dad would go at it." Sighing, she continued, "And poor Mam, she hated it when you two would fight."

"I know." Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he tried to focus on his surroundings. Something about them seemed familiar. "So, are we almost there?"

"Oh yeah, turn left up here," she pointed. As he turned the corner, he recognized the apartment building in the middle of the block. He'd only been there once, but he'd never forget the place where he'd offered Paige a job with Scorpion. . .. . .and a place in his heart, although he didn't realize that until much later. 

The neighborhood looked even rougher than it had four years ago. Garbage overflowed from dumpsters, cars with broken windows and flat tires lined the street. Only a handful of windows displayed any holiday decorations. 

He came to a halt in front of an old brick school even before Megan commanded him to stop. It appeared deserted, which would be expected at this time of night. Glancing over at his sister, he wonder how she was going to pull this one off.

Her grin twitched mischievously as she got out of the car and headed up the sidewalk leading up to the entrance. Walter was only a few steps behind when she unsurprisingly opened the door, revealing a dark empty hallway. 

The moment he crossed the threshold, light illuminated the foyer and the sounds of hundreds of children resonated throughout the building. Handmade Christmas decorations adorned the corridors. Looking over his shoulder, he could see daylight streaming through the glass doors. 

"How. . .?" he started to ask but cut himself short. He had to be dreaming. Surreptitiously he pinched his forearm, wincing at the pain.

"You're not dreaming," said Megan, nodding at his arm. "So you're not going to question what's going on?"

"What would be the point? You can't. . .or won't. . .give me a straight answer." Heaving a sigh of resignation, he added, "Let's just get this over with."

"Okay." Tugging his hand, she turned to the left, leading them down the hallway. 

He took in the cheerful yet institutional atmosphere, growing uncomfortable with every step. American schools weren't that dissimilar to Irish schools in his opinion. Both were an intellectual waste of time for people like him and Ralph. He flexed his knuckles, glad the younger genius never had to endure the abuse he had as a child.

"Here," she said, pointing to a door laden with wreaths made with green construction paper hand prints and red dots. 

Neither the teachers nor students seemed to notice the two strangers in their midst. One glimpse around the room told him it was a special education class. Boys and girls of various ages sat at long tables, working on what appeared to be a color by number picture of a reindeer. Walter scanned their faces, his lips tightening as he didn't recognize any of them. 

His gaze traveled to the back of the classroom where a lone boy sat at a desk, his eyes staring blankly ahead. _Ralph_. Turning his head, Walter saw the old fashioned analog clock positioned directly in Ralph's line of vision. Was the youngster formulating trigonometric functions based on the positions of the hour and minute hands, like Megan had once suggested he do when he was bored at school?

Walter strode past the tables, past the coloring children, to stand in front of the boy he'd mentored for over three years. The youngster didn't glance up. He didn't even blink.

"Ralph, it's me. . . Walter," he said. "What are you doing here? You don't belong here."

His eyes remained gazing straight ahead though Walter knew he had to be blocking the boy's view. 

"Don't you remember me?" he asked. "Ralph, remember when we met at Nemo's diner? Remember how you beat me at chess?"

The youngster picked up two crayons lying on the desk and began twiddling them with his fingers, reminding Walter of how he'd been fidgeting with the salt and pepper shakers that day at the diner. 

"Ralph, please. . ." he said, having a hard time keeping the desperation from his voice, "September 22nd 2014. It was the best day of my life. Reuniting with Cabe, saving all those people on those planes, meeting you and your mom." He chuckled, thinking back to that first conversation he'd with Paige. " I don't think she liked me very much then. . . I was such an arrogant ass when I told her you weren't mentally challenged, that you were a genius. . ."

The boy's eyes flicked upward for a split second before going back to fiddling with the crayons. But it had been long enough for Walter to see the confusion mixed with curiosity in them, the same things he'd seen in that first meeting.

"That's right, you're a genius," he stated, hoping he'd retained the youngster's attention. "My IQ is 197 and yours is even higher. You're the fourth smartest person in the world, smarter than Einstein. You should be in college, not special education."

The twitching stopped. Hoping he was finally getting through to the boy, he knelt down beside the desk, swallowing nervously. "I love you, Ralph," he declared, "and I love your mom. I want us to be a family. I want us to be together always."

Ralph turned his head slightly, staring at Walter with an emotionless expression. His lips parted, and Walter tensed in anticipation, desperately wanting to hear the boy genius to tell him everything was all right and this was all just a giant joke.

Instead, a high-pitched keening escaped the boy's mouth as he swept the crayons and paper off onto the floor with flailing hands. Walter stood up, taking a step back as the teacher and an aide rushed toward the howling child.

"Ralph, stop it," the teacher scolded. He responded by pounding his fists on the desk top. "That's enough of that." The other woman hurried over to a closet, rummaging around for a few moments before coming back with a long black belt. 

"You can't do that," Walter insisted as the aide used the belt to restrain Ralph's arms, binding them down against his sides. "He's just frustrated because he doesn't belong here. He needs more intellectual stimulation than being shoved in a corner with a box of crayons and coloring Christmas pictures. He doesn't belong here," he repeated. "He's a genius."

The women ignored him. The teacher slapped her hand over Ralph's mouth and held it there until his wailing ceased. Yanking the youngster from the seat, she then picked up the desk and spun it around to face the barren wall before pushing Ralph back down. "Now sit there and be quiet."

"You can't do this," Walter shouted at her as she walked back to her desk. "He needs. . ." Running his hand through his hair, he moved closer so the boy could see him. "I'm sorry, Ralph, I didn't mean to get you into trouble. This really isn't happening. It can't be. I don't believe it's. . ."

His words trailed off when he saw the youngster once again was staring blankly at the wall, tuning everything. . .and everyone out as he retreated from the world.

Walter turned away, searching the room for his sister. Megan stood at the white board, drawing devil horns on a face already sporting fangs and bushy eyebrows. A face which suspiciously looked a lot like the teacher's. Some of the children were sneaking glances at her and giggling into their hands.

"Seriously?" he asked. She just shrugged as she dropped the dry erase pen into the tray, a rueful smile on her lips.

"It's time to go anyway," she said before heading for the door.

He waited until they were out in the hall before speaking. "I need to talk to the principal," he said. "What they did to Ralph in there. . . That was child abuse."

"They won't listen," Megan replied sadly. "You didn't know this, but I tried to report Mr Creevy for caning you. And I don't just mean the time I pulled the fire alarm. I mean all the other times."

"You knew about. . ?" Of course she did. He might have been able to lie to his parents about his bruised and bloodied knuckles, telling them he'd fallen down. They'd believed him but he should have known she would have ferreted out the truth. 

"Yeah," she said, putting her hands in her pockets. "See, I tried to save you and failed. So that makes us even."

"That doesn't even begin to comp. . ." he started to argue as he pushed open the front doors and walked over the threshold. And even though he'd been expecting it, he was still startled when the light disappeared, thrusting them back into the dark night.

"So," she said as they headed toward his car. "Have I changed your mind yet?"

He pressed his key, unlocking the vehicle. "None of this is real," he replied as he slid into the driver's seat. "None of this even makes sense. I need logic and facts before I alter my opinion. . .not make-believe nonsense."

"So, no," she said as she glanced up at the sky and giving her head a little shake before getting into the Malibu.


	7. Broke Waitress

"I think I'll stay in the car this time," Megan announced after she had directed him to the parking lot of their next stop. A ‘gentlemen's' club, offering alcohol and the hottest girls in town in garish two foot high neon letters.

"Why?" Walter stared at the building through the windshield of his car. He knew who was inside, she was the only one of the team left. Bile rose in his throat at the idea of her ending up in a place like this. 

"Don't you need to keep an eye on me?" he asked harshly. "What if I break one of your arbitrary rules?"

"You won't," she replied. "I'm just affording you some privacy because. . .you know. . ."

He couldn't tell if the rosy hue on her cheeks was from the glare of the red lights on the club's sign or if she was embarrassed. She had accompanied him on all their previous visitations. He wouldn't have thought she'd be squeamish to go to a strip club. She'd never been a prude about sex. . .

Then it dawned on him his connection with Paige was not the same as with the rest of the team. She was the only one he was in love with. The only one he'd ever been intimate with. He'd learned there were some things between lovers which should remain confidential. Mortification swept through him at the thought of his sister observing him and Paige while they. . . 

"Okay," he said, heat rising on his own face. "You'll be all right out here?" The neighborhood, although not as bad as the one they'd just left, still seemed kind of sketchy.

"It'll be like I'm not even here," she replied, flashing him a dimpled grin.

He'd barely stepped foot inside the door when all his senses were assaulted. Loud music and laughter, bright flashing lights, the stench of alcohol and sex so thick he could taste it. A beefy hand landed heavily his shoulder.

"Ten dollar cover." Walter glanced up at the owner of the gruff voice, making the prudent decision not to argue with a man whose arms were nearly the same size as Ralph. A bill bearing the portrait of Alexander Hamilton was swiftly handed over.

Despite it being Christmas Eve, the club was crowded with patrons. Several scantily clad women were dancing up on the stage, and he only looked at them long enough to determine none of them were Paige.

Someone else tapped his shoulder. "You lost, sugah?" A dark haired woman, dressed in a skimpy bikini top and a pair of very short shorts, smiled at him as she held an empty tray.

"Uh. . ." His power of speech deserted him as he spotted Paige, wearing the same revealing outfit, serving drinks to a table of men who had taken off their suit jackets and loosened their ties. Her back was to him, and when she bent over to place a glass in front of one of the men, her shorts rode up, giving him a heart stopping view of her booty.

Mesmerized, it took him a moment or two to notice the hand snaking its way up the back of her thigh. Walter flew across the room, yanking the man out of his chair.

"Don't touch her," he growled. 

"Fuck off," the pervert snarled, giving Walter a shove.

Losing his footing, he bumped into Paige, causing her to spill her tray of drinks, splattering everyone within a few feet with alcohol, including the jerk who had dared to put his hands on her. Curses and threats filled Walter's ear.

For the third time in what seemed like as many minutes, someone grasped his shoulder and pulled him away from the table. He stumbled to a halt as he stared into the furious yet beautiful face of Paige Dineen. 

"What the hell is your problem?" she asked him

"That man. . . He was, he was harassing you. . ." he explained.

"So, what's it to you?" she sneered. "I don't even know you." She started to turn away.

"Yes, you do," he countered, his mind reeling. 

"Pretty sure I don't," she announced irritably. 

"You do." He moved closer, almost sighing with relief as the lavender she always wore twitched his nose. "You're my. . .my. . . You're the love of my life."

Derisive laughter rose up behind him. "Hey, that's a good one," one of the businessmen guffawed. He reached out and snared the waitress Walter had encountered earlier. "Hey, baby, you're the love of my life," he said, swatting her on the butt. 

"I don't know who the hell you are, Mister," Paige said, capturing his attention once again. She still looked pissed. "You're gonna cost me my job."

He was incredulous. "You can't want to work here." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the nearly naked women dancing on the stage while another waitress was grinding on a seated customer. 

"I don't," she admitted, "but the tips are good, and if. . . if sometimes I do a little extra. . . Well, the money's even better." 

_Oh shit_. Was she prostituting herself to keep a roof over her and Ralph's heads? No, he refused to believe it. This was a dream, a hallucination. . . A nightmare.

"What happened to Nemo's," he demanded. 

"Nemo's?" She chuckled mirthlessly. "You mean after he got busted by ICE and his place got shut down? Hell, that was. . .that was over four years and about five jobs ago. And how the hell did you know I worked there?"

"That's where we met." 

She gave him an assessing once-over. "I think I would have remembered someone like you," she stated with a sad smile. She wore a heavy layer of makeup, but he was close enough to see the multitude of rhytides which had developed in the few hours since he'd last seen her. 

He had to get her out of this place, although he didn't know if she'd go willingly. But he had to try. "Hey. . ." he began, only to be interrupted by a noisy group of men wearing military fatigues entering the club. 

"Look, I've got to get back to work," she hissed, glancing over her shoulder at the bartender. "So either buy a lap dance or quit wasting my time." Paige whirled around then, reassuring the business men she would replace their spilled drinks on the house.

Walter just watched her saunter back to the bar. _This couldn't be happening_. She would never have sunk so low to survive. But then he'd thought that about the rest of the team too. It was impossible their lives would have turned out so badly if he had never started Scorpion. He'd seen something in all of them. A potential for greatness, of course. But he'd also seen a family. His family.

"Hey, sweet cheeks," one of the newcomers yelled. Walter broke out in a cold sweat as he recognized the voice. No, no, no. No, not him. Anyone but him. . .

He spun around to see his pleas had not been answered. Paige, having re-served her drinks, wended her way over to the man who summoned her. 

"How much?" Tim Armstrong asked, nodding his head in the direction of a man nearby with a woman squirming on his lap.

"Twen. . ."

Walter cut in before she could name her price. "I. . .I was here. . .first," he choked out, not quite believing what he was doing.

"You want a lap dance?" She sounded skeptical.

"Yes." He gulped as he scanned the crowded room. "Is there. . .is there somewhere a little more pri-private?"

"That'll cost extra."

"Okay." He didn't care how much it cost. He'd pay anything to keep her away from the Navy SEAL

"Okay." She waved at the bartender. "Hey Charlie, I'm going in the back." The man just nodded as he poured something into a glass. "Come on then." Paige put her hand on Walter's arm. Electricity jolted through him as she led him across the room to a narrow hallway lined with five doors. Stopping at the second one, she pushed it open.

The room certainly wasn't what he expected. Although he wasn't quite sure what he thought he'd find. It was sparsely furnished; two chairs, one with a boombox resting on it; mirrors on three of the walls plus the ceiling. Paige flipped a switch and a small mirror ball started spinning, casting flecks of light around the room. 

"Hey sweetie, what's your name?" she asked.

"Walter." He waited for a flicker of recognition, and when none was forthcoming, his heart sank. She truly didn't know him. 

"Why don't you sit down and get comfortable, Walter?" 

"Okay." He did half of her request and sat down in the chair, rubbing his damp palms on his jeans. Getting comfortable was out of the question.

She walked over to the other chair. "You want music?"

"Music?" 

"Yeah." She arched an eyebrow at him. "Have you ever done this before?"

"Uh. . ." God, no. The thought of paying a strange woman to touch him so intimately. . .. He had to suppress a shudder of repulsion. 

"I didn't think so." She sighed wearily. "Okay, these are the rules. You stay seated, you keep your clothes on, you can only touch above the waist," she rattled them off in a bored tone. "And it's a hundred and I need to see the money now."

He pulled out his wallet and handed her the money Toby wouldn't take. "Okay," she said, pushing a button on the boombox. A song he'd never heard before started playing, with a female voice singing " _I know you like me. . .I know you do. . ._ "

The lyrics and lights and everything else faded away as she straddled his lap. He felt the heat from her body, caught the scent of her lavender as she undulated her hips against his thighs. Instinctively, he put his hands on her shoulders, caressing his way down her back until they came to rest on the small of her back.

With a shiver, she closed her eyes, dragging herself slowly over his groin. Her shallow breathing matched his own as she reversed her move. His discomfort grew when she bit her lip as she lifted her arms and started fumbling with something behind her neck. The strings holding up her top began loosening.

He couldn't let her do this. He had to stop her, even though he ached for her so much. . .

"Paige, wait," he said, grasping at her fingers to still their progress.

Her eyes popped open and her movements came to a halt. "How in the hell do you know my name?" she said as she pushed his hands away . "Who are you? Some kind of stalker or something?"

"No, I'm not a stalker," he said. "What I said out there is true. You're the love of my life. We've been together since May, but we've known each other for over four years. You work with me. . .at my company. . .Scorpion."

"Oh, God, why do I get all the crazy ones?" She rubbed her fingers on her temples. "Listen, I've never seen you before tonight. I've certainly never worked with you. You need to leave." She jumped off his lap and headed toward the door.

"No, Paige, wait. . ." He grabbed her upper arm, spinning her back around to face him. "Paige, please. . ."

"Let go of me!" Her cry had an edge of hysteria to it and he immediately released her.

"I'm sorry, I-I. . ." he began, taking a step back.

He never got to finish his sentence as two men burst into the cubicle. "Come with, jackass," growled the bouncer, yanking on Walter's arm.

"Please. . ." he implored the larger man. "I just want to talk. . ."

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," snarled the bartender as he pulled on Walter's other arm."

"No, let me go. . ." He struggled his way out of their clutches and rushed toward Paige. "Please. . .you gotta believe me. . ."

The bouncer stepped into his path. "She don't hafta believe nuttin', asshole." 

He had to get through to her. Had to get her out of this hell hole. He couldn't just leave her here.

Before he knew what he was doing, Walter took a swing at the bouncer, aiming for his crooked nose. His punch missed its target, clipping the other man on the chin instead. He was swiftly rewarded for his bold stupidity seconds later as a ham sized fist slammed into his face. 

Pain exploded in his head. His body went limp, there was an odd ringing in his ears, the edges of his vision started to darken. As he hit the floor, Paige's eyes, filled with confusion and concern, were the last thing he saw before everything went black.

_____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's musical note: The lyrics are from the song "Don't Cha" sung by The Pussycat Dolls and written by Anthony Ray (Sir Mix-a-Lot), Thomas Callaway (CeeLo Green), and Trevor Smith (Busta Rhymes). Used without permission. Please do not sue.


	8. Down The Rabbit Hole

He was in a bed. Walter knew that much without opening his eyes. The last thing he could recall with any clarity was Paige hovering above him. The details were fuzzy, lost under the layers of the nightmare he'd experienced, but she must have come back to the garage to give him her ‘gift'. A smile touched his lips.

He rolled over, reaching out but instead of her warm body, his hand landed on cool sheets. Sheets which were much coarser than the ones normally on his bed. The mattress was lumpier too. Even the air smelled different. A stale, almost medicinal odor lingered, with no trace of lavender.

The memory of the bouncer's fist smashing into his nose drifted through his consciousness. Was he in the hospital? He ran his hand over his face, not detecting any pain or swelling. The punch hadn't been real though. Couldn't have been real. Not of what he'd seen could possibly have been real.

His musings were interrupted as the door opened, followed by the rattling of a cart. "Merry Christmas, Mr O'Brien," said a perky female voice. "How are we today?"

Walter slowly raised his eyelids and saw a woman in her late 30s or early , wearing scrubs decorated with dogs and cats in Santa hats. The room had an institutional look about it, but without the typical medical equipment of a hospital. He had to still be dreaming, hallucinating, whatever the hell was happening.

"Where am I?" he asked as he sat up and realized he wore a tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His usual nighttime attire but definitely not what he'd been wearing earlier that evening. 

"Are we confused this morning? Here, these will help," she said, handing him a small cup of pills and some water.

"Help with what?" He frowned as he scanned his surroundings once again, taking in the stark walls and the narrow barred windows near the ceiling. "What is this place?"

"You're not going to be difficult today, are you, Mr O'Brien?" She pressed the paper cups into his hands. "Take your medicine. You have a visitor."

What in the hell was going on? Why wouldn't she answer his questions? He glanced down at the pills. There was no way he was taking anything if he didn't know what it was. 

"Come on, your friend is waiting," she coaxed. "And I need to finish my rounds." 

"Okay." He tossed the capsules into his mouth, then drank the cup of water. Crushing both containers, he handed them back to her. 

Walter waited until she closed the door before spitting the pills back out into his hand. Sliding off the bed, he went into the bathroom and tossed them in the toilet. After he flushed them away, he found a robe and slippers in a closet and put them on, since it didn't appear he didn't have any regular clothing.

He walked out into the hallway. There were a couple of other men, also in bathrobes. One was mumbling to himself as he paced with the width of the corridor. The other was sitting in a wheelchair with his head bowed. 

Moving past them, he came to a nurses' station. "Merry Christmas, Mr O'Brien," chirped another nurse. "How are we this morning?"

"I have a visitor?" 

"Did you forget where to go again?" the woman asked, a patronizing smile on her face.

"Uh. . ." He wanted to tell her he couldn't forget what he didn't know but she didn't give him a chance to answer. 

"Tony, can you take Mr O'Brien to the visitor's lounge? She pointed to a large man in dark blue scrubs. 

The orderly led him to a room on the opposite side of the building. "In there," the man said unnecessarily. "Do you think you can make it back by yourself?"

"Yes." Of course he could find his way back. He had an eidetic memory and an IQ of 197, probably at least twice that of the other man. He opened his mouth to say as much, but the orderly was already heading back the way they'd come. 

He obviously was in a mental institution of some sort. But why? Who or what did Megan want him to see in such a place? It had to be her waiting in the lounge, no doubt to call him a stubborn ass again. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room.

"Hello, Walter."

His stomach lurched and his knees buckled slightly at the sight of the person seated in one of the chairs provided.. "M-M-Mark," he managed to choke out.

"You weren't expecting me?" Collins shook his head. "Walter, Walter, Walter. . . Who else would it be?"

"M-M-My sis. . .sister." And even though he knew she wasn't there, he searched the lounge. "Where is she?"

"Didn't she die a couple of years ago?" said the other man. "I thought you would at least remember that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Walter demanded, not in the mood to play his former friend's mind games.

Collins patted the chair next to him. "We only have half an hour. Come, sit down, let's chat. You do know where you are, don't you?"

"Some kind of mental hospital," he replied, ignoring the request to be seated. "I can't understand why I'm here though. I'm not crazy. You are."

Mark threw his head back as he laughed. "Oh, dear, forgive me," he said, wiping at his eyes. "I'm not the one who cracked after staying up for ten days in a row without sleep, barely eating or drinking"

"That never happened." Walter recalled vividly the last time he'd gone down the rabbit hole with Collins. With help from the rest of the team, he'd managed to pull himself out it in the nick of time, spending another two days trying to coax Mark to take a break. Which had only enraged the other man to the point Walter had feared for both his life and that of his friend. That's when he'd had him com. . _Oh, shit_.

"I can see you finally figured it out." Collins leaned forward. "They weren't there. They'd all had left you by then. There was no one to interfere, no one to insist you eat and sleep." He clasped his hands together. "We were so close, Walter, so close. Super symmetry, string theory, time travel, brain to brain interface. . .

"But you were weak. I showed you the outer limits of your intelligence and you couldn't handle it."

A conversation he'd had with Paige, not long after she'd joined the team, popped into Walter's head. One where he'd explained what it meant to be so focused on the work, a person could be in danger of falling permanently down the ‘rabbit hole'. And he recalled his answer to her question on how to avoid doing so. 

_"You avoid it by starting a team like Scorpion."_

"But I did start Scorpion, Mark," he said softly. 

"Scorpion?" Collins sneered. "That hackneyed idea for a company you had all those years ago to help your so-called ‘genius friends' find a place in this world? I talked you out of that, remember? So you and I could be together, so we could combine our brain power for the greater good." He chuckled derisively. "But you couldn't hack it. You crumbled under the strain. You didn't have the guts to utilize your intellect to its fullest intent.

"Your precious cyclone doesn't exist," the other man went on. "You've been locked up in here for the past six years. Your precious team couldn't make it without you. You saw what they've become; alcoholics, thieves, gamblers, prostitutes, deceased. . . And oh, we can't forget the boy now, can we?. The precious boy who is smarter than both of us. . .his brain withering away, stuck in a class with a bunch of re-. . ."

"Shut up! You're wrong," Walter shouted. "None of that happened. This is all just a dream. It's not really happening."

"But it is happening." Mark hauled himself out of the chair. "Just because you don't want to believe it, doesn't mean it isn't true. You failed, Walter. You failed everyone. You failed your family, failed your sister. You failed your friends. You failed with women, failed with Paige and Ralph. . . And you failed me, the one person who ever really cared about you."

Running his hand through his hair, he exhaled, trying to calm his pounding heart and panicked breathing. "The only thing I failed was to see you for what you are. . .a sociopath. You never cared about me. You only cared about my brain. And when I wouldn't let you play with it anymore, you're the one who went mad, not me. 

"I-I did start Scorpion. I have friends. I have a family. My cyclone."

Collins moved closer. "No, you don't. You have nothing. You're nothing but an empty shell of the person you used to be." He glanced down at Walter's feet. "You can't even wear shoes with laces. 

"No. . . No. . ." Walter shook his head in a futile effort to calm himself. "You're just messing with my head again. None of this is true." 

"But it is," the other man said with a smug smile. "You never started Scorpion. It never existed. You never saved anyone, not even yourself. If you had any sense of shame, you'd rid the world of your worthless presence."

Megan had claimed to be an angel, there to make him see the error of his ways. So what did that make Collins? A minion of the devil? There to torture him until he killed himself? Walter knew he shouldn't let Mark get under his skin, knew the other man wanted him to lose control. Common sense told him to just walk away. Let the asshole think he'd won. 

He lunged at Collins, grabbing the front of his jacket as his reason was overpowered by a wave of anger, sick of his former friend's gloating, his air of superiority, the continual manipulation. . .

"No, you're wrong! I did start Scorpion!" he yelled as he tried to shake the other man. "You were always a liar." He ignored Collin's pleas for him to stop. "You're wrong and you know it!"

Strong hands gripped his upper arms. Looking left and right, he recognized the man who had escorted him to the lounge, plus another one he'd never seen before.

"Okay, come on," said Tony, pulled him backwards. Walter had to let go of Collins, catching a glimpse of Mark's satisfied expression.

"I did start Scorpion, I did," he insisted as he struggled to get free. "He's wrong. I did start Scorpion."

The two men began dragging him from the room. "Sure you did," said the other orderly, rolling his eyes. 

"I did," he murmured as they hustled him down the hallway. Scorpion _had_ done good things. He _had_ done good things. He'd created a family, a cyclone who needed each other to survive. He couldn't throw it all away because of just one failure. 

He had to get out of this place. He needed to go back and apologize to the team for being a giant ass. He needed to be with Paige and Ralph. "Let me go," he demanded. "I need to go. . ."

"No can do," said Tony, tightening his grip. 

After a quick calculation of the odds of success, Walter kicked out at the orderly's ankle, causing the man to lose his balance and loosen his hold. With his arm now free, he took a swing at the other man, hitting him in the stomach. The man doubled over, clutching his gut with both hands. 

Walter, surprised by his easy escape, hesitated for a moment when he realized he didn't know where the exits were. He'd barely taken a step forward when something sharp pricked the back of his neck and he spun around to see a nurse with a hypodermic in her hand. A numbness spread throughout his body as his vision began to blur.

"Oh, boy." he said just before he lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borrowed a few lines from "Plutonium is Forever " (Season 1 Episode 5). I thought the line in italics was particularly fitting.


	9. An Angel Gets Her Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borrowed a line or two from "Arrivals and Departures" (Season 2 Episode 10)

A sense of dread, along with a sore neck, nagged at Walter as he struggled to regain consciousness. Fear he would still be in the mental institution, waking up from his drug-induced nap. Fear he would be somewhere even worse, although he wasn't sure what could possibly be as bad as being committed to the loony bin by Mark Collins.

His fear had merit. He was in Megan's room at Whitehull, sitting in a chair next to her bed, the one in which she had died. She was lying there, a dimpled grin on her glowing face, staring up at the ceiling. Wincing, he glanced upward to see what had made her so happy. Stars danced across the top of the room, the projector Sylvester made her rotating on the night stand. 

"Isn't it beautiful?" she asked, not taking her gaze from it.

"Yes," he managed to choke out as the memories of that day flooded his brain and his eyes started to blur.

"I couldn't fully appreciate this. . .you know, before," she said, still looking up. "Do you understand now why Scorpion is so important?"

The abrupt change of subject disconcerted him for a moment. "I-I still don't think. . .believe this is real, but. . .yes, I do understand."

"Good." She turned to grin at him. "I'm glad you finally saw the light. Took you long enough though. I thought you were the genius of the family?"

"Yeah, I'm not so good with. . .well, stuff like this." He stared down at the floor then back up at her. "These dreams, hallucinations. . .they were all exaggerations, though. Right? I mean none of this could have truly happened?"

"You know I can't tell you that," she replied, and he could hear the sadness in her voice. 

He sighed in resignation. "I thought not," he said. "It's just they were in bad situations when I first met them and. . .I'd like to think they would have been successful with or without my help." Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he continued, "And I didn't realize how much I needed them."

"It's okay, baby bro." She held out her hand and he grasped it in his own. "No man is an island. Not even you."

"So now what?" he asked. "Do I get a second chance to stop what happened. . ." He trailed off when he noticed her sadly shaking her head.

"Oh, Walter. What's done is done and it can't be changed." She squeezed his hand. "Remember in the movie when that miserable son of a bitch Mr Potter found the eight thousand dollars and kept it for himself? Even though he knew doing so would destroy George's life? It didn't seem fair he went unpunished, did it?"

He always hated that part, the old, rich bastard's deliberate disregard for the other man's family and business. "No, it didn't, but. . ."

"But in the end, the money didn't matter," she cut in. "What George learned was more important."

"And what was that? Not to trust greedy old men?"

She chuckled. "No, brainiac. That family and friends will always be there for you, if you're there for them when it matters." 

"It's just a stupid movie," he stated emphatically. "People died, Megan. They died."

"I know. . ."

"You died." 

"Well, duh," she said. "It's okay, Walter. I know you wanted to save me, but like I said before, it wasn't meant to be. Just like you weren't meant to save those people today." She glanced back up at the stars for a moment before looking him in the eye. "There are people in this world who love you so much. I'm so glad you finally stopped being afraid to love them back. I just want you to be as happy as I am. And despite everything, I think you really are now."

He tightened his grip on her hand. "Don't go yet," he pleaded, sensing his dream, hallucination, nightmare, whatever the hell going on, was coming to an end . "I-I love you and I. . .I miss you. So much."

"Do you remember at the end, what the little girl said when the bell rang?"

He rolled his eyes as she referenced the ludicrous movie once again. "Some nonsense about an angel getting its wings."

"It's not nonsense," Megan said with a dimpled grin. "Don't be sad, Walter. Just know I'll always be a part of you. I love you, baby bro." She lifted her gaze upward as she let go of his hand. 

A bell began to tinkle as a bright light filled the room. Both only lasted a moment before fading away into silent blackness.

_____

His head was resting on something solid and a dull ache emanated from his lower back. Walter abruptly sat up, slightly disoriented as he scanned his surroundings. He was in the garage, at his desk, and judging from the small puddle of drool on his laptop, he must have been lying on it as he slept.

Running his hand over his face, he then looked at his watch. It was a minute after midnight. He blinked, thinking he must have read it wrong. It had to be impossible, it felt like he'd been asleep for hours. Picking up his phone, he saw the text Paige had sent, confirming the time. 

It _had_ all been a dream. One of which he remembered every vivid detail, from Cabe being an alcoholic rent-a-cop to Paige giving lap dances to strangers. Scenarios he would have never conjured up on his own. Situations so desperate he had a hard time accepting them.

He needed to apologize to all of them for his self-centered behavior after the disaster at the airport. He hadn't been the only one affected by the tragedy. They'd all suffered worse injuries than he had. And the preventable deaths of those sixteen people probably weighed as heavily on their minds as they did his.

He needed to let them know how much he valued each and every member of the team. How much he appreciated their loyalty and commitment. Not only to Scorpion, but also to him. 

And he needed to show them how much he cared. Because he did. They were his family.

He stared at the darkened screen of his laptop, wondering what he could do to convey his feelings. Something more than a handshake or a slap on the back, and telling them thanks. Something a ‘normal' employer would do for his employees. . .

A smile grew on his face as the perfect idea came to mind.

_____

Walter realized he probably should have waited until later in the morning when an exhausted looking Toby and an irate Happy answered the door of the Quinn-Curtis residence. "It's almost one o'clock in the morning, you putz," grumped the doc.

"This better be good, moron," the mechanic growled. "Or your ass is going to covered in boot shaped bruises."

"You've been hanging around Cabe for too long," the shrink said to his wife.

"Shut up, or you'll get the same." Happy crossed her arms over her chest as she frowned at Walter. "What the hell are you doing here, dumbass?"

"I'm here to give you these." He handed each of them an envelope. "Merry Christmas."

"What the hell is this?" asked the mechanic, turning hers over. 

Toby tore his open. "It's a check for a thousand dollars," he said, glancing up from the check to Walter. "You gave us a Christmas bonus? You don't even believe in Christmas."

"It's more a token of my appreciation for your hard work and loyalty," Walter stated. He would have liked to have given them more, but his precarious financial situation had reined in his generosity.

"Some token." Happy was staring down at her check. "So what's really going on? Are you firing us?"

"Why would you think that?" 

She waved the envelope in his face. "This is pink, dummy."

"I know," he replied, confused by her annoyance. "I found them in Paige's desk and thought they were more festive than plain white ones would be."

"Have you ever heard of a pink slip?" asked the psychiatrist, not waiting for Walter's answer. "No, of course you haven't." He slid his check back into the envelope. "Thank you."

"Yeah, thank you," echoed Happy. "Now get out."

She pushed him toward the exit and he stumbled outside. The door slammed behind him as he righted himself. With a shrug, he walked away, heading off to visit Sly and Cabe.

_____

After receiving a less than thrilled reception from the human calculator and the Homeland agent which included panicked screams and more threats of ass kicking, Walter stood in the hallway in front of Paige's condo. He'd had to persuade Sylvester to accept the money by telling him he could always donate it in Megan's memory, an idea which the younger genius agreed to before giving him an unsolicited but still welcome hug.

Sighing, he knocked on the door, wondering if she'd already gone to bed and if he should just use the key she'd given him. He was about to do the later when the door opened, revealing a pajama clad Paige, her eyes red as she sniffed into a tissue. "Walter. . ." 

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned she'd fallen ill, or she was suffering pain from her injuries, or worst of all, she'd been crying over his asinine behavior earlier that evening.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine." A smile twisted her lips. "Just finished watching _It's a Wonderful Life_. I don't know why but I always tear up at the end when the little girl tells her dad that when a bell rings, it means an angel gets their wings. It's my favorite part."

"It's. . . It was. . ." He cleared his throat, thinking of Megan and how she'd set him back onto the right path. "It was my sister's favorite part, too," he croaked out.

"Oh." Sadness flickered in her eyes for a second before she opened the door wider. "Well, aren't you gonna come in?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah." He stepped inside, walking into the living room where the end credits of the movie were rolling over the TV screen. Ralph was lying asleep on the couch.

"He went out like a light about an hour ago," Paige said softly. "I hate to wake him up just so he can go to bed."

"I could carry him for you," he offered. Ten minutes later, the boy genius was all tucked in and Paige was quietly closing his bedroom door.

"So you changed your mind, huh?" she asked as they both stood in the hallway.

"Yes," he said, "I came to apologize. I'm sorry I was. . ."

"Being a stubborn jackass?" 

"Yeah. I thought everyone would be better off without me, without Scorpion. But I-I was. . .wr-wrong and I'm sorry." 

He wanted to tell her about Megan's visitation, but a couple factors warned him against it. First, he wasn't sure if she'd believe him. And second, he was pretty sure she'd be as disturbed as he had been to learn what she would have become. Which he was certain wouldn't bode well for him. Maybe he'd tell her someday. . .in the far distant future. 

He'd been so lost in his musing, he didn't noticed she'd moved closer until her lavender scent tickled his nose and he could feel the heat from her body. "Well, you're here now," she said, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Ralph and I both opened one of our presents. You still interested in unwrapping one of yours?"

"Uh. . ." He started to say yes but her lips were on his before he could get the word out. Her fingers slipped into his hair, sending sparks of desire down his spine. 

"Merry Christmas, Walter," she murmured breathlessly a few minutes later as she pulled him toward her room. Where he received a very special gift indeed.

_____

**FIN**


End file.
